Doomed From the Start
by Insanely Me
Summary: Novice CIA agent Cammie Morgan manages to survive another agency sponsored event (armed against accommodating assassins and 4 inch heels with only her wit, her skill, and her stun gun), but only through sheer luck and stupidity.


**I know I should be working on my actual story, but if I didn't get out this little drabble and release my Yalex imaginings, then I would never have any real plot in Dead Men Don't Talk (Loudly) and it would just be these two bumbling fail-boats. Totally inspired by scenes from You've Got Mail and The Great Gatsby. **

Cammie had to admit that the ballroom did look beautiful. It didn't mean that she was enjoying herself (Macey might have gotten her to understand the wonders of makeup, but she would _never _understand the appeal behind high heels and tight cocktail dresses), but it did make things somewhat better. Cammie had prepared her entire life to join the CIA, but now that she had, she was realizing that there was a lot more pleasantries and bullshit than she ever thought possible. She'd only been with the agency for 8 months, and she was still considered a liable newbie (although there were already rumors of her being groomed to run the new Tailing Department), and she'd already been forced to suffer through nearly a half dozen dinners, luncheons, and formal balls. She could only thank god that she had decided to take the Torture Resistance 101 class before she had graduated Gallagher.

Taking a deep gulp from her wine class, Cammie braced herself for the worst as she attempted to stand up on the 4 inch stilts she had strapped onto her ankles and feverently wished that her fiancée could be there with her to help her feel less self-conscious (how come Zach always "conveniently" managed to snag missions whenever things like this were being planned? This was something she was going to have to look into.). It would be just her luck to fall in the middle of the First Annual CIA/MI6/ASIS Meet-Up Extravaganza, in front of all the important people she needed to be making connections with.

Finally finding herself in an almost-stable, entirely upright position, Cammie started the long and treacherous walk to the tables where the food was laid out. It wasn't that far away, honest. And it was all flat, scuffed terrain, nothing to trip her up (_except your own feet, _her traitorous subconscious told her). It would be _totally _fine. She would go up, get a plate of food (and god did that chocolate fountain look good; maybe if she sucked in her stomach really hard, there would be enough room in her dress for her to eat some of it), talk a bit with a couple of the agents, and then leave. Fantastic plan.

Or at least, it would've been, if Cammie hadn't managed to quite literally run _into _a man. The collision took the two of them wholly by surprise. Cammie stumbled backwards, narrowly avoiding two waltzing couples, and the red haired man only avoided a fall by taking hold of a column to rebalance himself.

Blushing deeply, Cammie began her effusive apologies, watching sharply as the man's narrowed eyes slowly dilated as he realized that she wasn't a threat, and breathing a sigh of relief as his hand moved away from his jacket (where Cammie was most certain she had seen the barrel of a gun as she had tripped backwards).

Still muttering apologies as she turned to flee a hasty retreat to her sensible yet fashionable BMW 335i, the Chameleon tensed and fought every instinct she had to not perform a deadly maneuver on the person who belonged to the hand that had just recently grabbed her shoulder.

"You're Agent Morgan, aren't you?"

Eyes widening to the near point of cartoonism, Cammie whipped around.

"You know my name?"  
>The man quirked a small, condescending smile, and Cammie felt her eyes being drawn to the red head's lips. They should have looked out of place, such feminine lips on such a strong face, but they seemed to make sense within the format of the man. It almost felt as if she had seen him before, but she couldn't place him within the world of espionage. "<em>Perhaps he's a model<em>." Cammie thought to herself. "_Or possibly a Russian musician."_ she mused, thinking of the slight accent and taking in the relaxed grace and the nimble fingers.

"Ms. Morgan, it's my business to know of all the up and coming agents. In my position, it would be very foolish not too."

_So definitely not a model then._

Too confused (and possibly too weak from hunger) to try and recover from her blunder, Cammie pressed on, her curiosity intrigued.

"What do you mean by that, does that mean I'm being noticed by the higher ups?" she questioned, her voice climbing up a half step on the scale. She knew that some of the more experienced agents she had been working with had been talking about her having great potential, but she hadn't realized that word of her skill as a disguise and trailing expert had leaked to other agencies. This could be great for her career.

"Well Ms. Morgan, I'm not sure about that. All I know is that I heard a few whispers of your name the last time I was in Britain, and I was curious to see if you were as good as I have heard." The man paused for a moment, plucking off two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing server, handing one to Cammie and taking a sip of his own before continuing on. "And I have to say, I am somewhat disappointed. I had been led to believe that you were at the top of your game, but I see that you are still making novice mistakes."

Cammie bristled. _Of course the handsome charmer is an asshole, why would I expect anything different? All these middle aged men, they all think they're better than me just because I'm new and I'm a woman! _In a fit of sudden anger, Cammie let loose with a "Well I'm sorry to disappoint mister, but I'm sure I'm still a hell of a lot better than you!"

Regret followed immediately.

God, what an _idiot_! A remark like that out in the field would get you killed instantly. She was lucky the man hadn't shot her yet, or challenged her to a duel or something barbaric like that. Jesus, she knew she was going to end up dead by the end of the evening, she had just assumed that it would be because she fell down the steps and broke her neck, not that she was going to get stabbed for being a total imbecile.

But to her utter surprise, none of these things happened. Instead, the man _laughed_. Cammie had hardly believed before that very moment that the man's face was even _capable _of making any expression except for the disdainful smirk.

"Only one other person ever has the guts and the stupidity to talk to me like that, and if you have even a fraction of the talent he has, then you'll surely make it out of all of this alright. I think I may have misjudged you, Agent Morgan. Allow me to apologize?" the man said, motioning towards the decadent desserts.

Dumbfounded, Cammie could do nothing but nod and follow the man as he fixed two plates of goodies and led them to a partially vacant table. Had she been in her right mind, she would never have followed an obviously dangerous stranger so blindly. But the combination of embarrassment, alcohol, and a near-death-experience had made her lax, and she hardly even noticed the strange looks she was getting, or when the other occupants at the table gathered up their things and left.

Only remembering her famishment once she was seated, Cammie began eating in a manner she was sure her Home Ec. and Slavic Studies teacher would highly disapprove of, but Cammie could hardly bring herself to care. In fact, she would have continued on in the same manner if she hadn't noticed the slight look of revulsion on her decidedly more graceful table partner's face during the middle of their conversation.

Swallowing her mouthful of crème brulee, she pointed her fork somewhat accusingly at the man.

"Look, I wasn't hired to look pretty or act girly, so don't expect it." she said, feeling refreshingly un-self-conscious of herself. As an afterthought (after all, this man was being unerringly polite. Maybe he was flirting?), she tacked on "And don't expect anything else either. I have a fiancée."

Moving her hand over her napkin so that the engagement ring that Zach had given her caught the light, she smugly resumed her snacking. _Great, maybe he'll leave me alone now. _

Unfortunately, this was not to be.

"Don't worry," he said, his cold eyes glinting like steel. "You're not my type."

Cammie felt her stomach tighten (those same old girl-hood fears of not being pretty enough never do go away, she was slowly learning), and she went quite for a moment, hell bent on avoiding eye contact until she could get her sudden alcohol-induced emotions back under control.

She took this moment as an opportunity to look around the ballroom, slightly surprised when she realized how many people had come in while she had been otherwise occupied. She recognized a few faces, one being that of one of her fellow CIA newbies, a Ms. Jensen Towery. Cammie's brow furrowed slightly in confusion. _Wasn't Jensen supposed to be on the surveillance mission in Istanbul with Zach?_

So deep in thought was she that when she suddenly recognized an agent standing, surrounded by a group of people, she nearly dropped her glass of water.

"Oh my god!" she leaned over and whispered to her table partner. "I didn't know that Alex Rider was going to be here!"

Fighting the urge to check herself in a compact mirror (she may be engaged, but she still knows a perfect specimen of eye candy when she sees it), Cammie threw a furtive glance over her shoulder, missing the bemused smile the red hair man shot her way.

"Alex Rider?" he asked, startling the female agent out of her reverie, "Who is Alex Rider?"

Cammie stared at him bug-eyed.

"You mean to tell me that you've never heard of _the _Alex Rider? Alex Rider the MI6 agent? Alex Rider: the modern day Bond!?"

The man shook his head, a blank expression on his face.

"But I thought you said that you knew all of the best agents?"

"Well, I suppose this one must have slipped by me."

"But this is Alex Rider!" she exclaimed, flabbergasted. "He has a 100% success rate; he's never failed a single mission! I've heard that he can pick a lock in under six seconds, and that he can kill a man in under four, and that once, he hacked into the MI6 database and shut down the _entire _building in a single hour. And it doesn't hurt that he's absolutely _gorgeous_. You know, they say that the real reason the head of the ASIS divorced her wife was because when she met Rider, she was so attracted to him that she thought she was straight! I mean, I don't think that one's true, but all of the other stories about his missions and stuff? They say those are true. Are you sure you've never heard of him before?" Cammie asked, a little more than certain at this point that she was being played.

"Never in my life." the man said, incredibly solemn.

Agent Morgan didn't feel like the man was telling the truth, but so far he hadn't given her any reason to doubt anything that he had said (he seemed to be a very blunt man), so she decided to take his word for it. After all, it wasn't really that big of a deal.

So confident in herself at the moment was she that when she felt a sudden hand on her shoulder, she didn't even hesitate to stand up, flipping the owner of the hand over her shoulder and onto the ground, her sharp heel pressing lightly into the man's throat as a ballroom full of suddenly alert government agents stared on.

"Hi babe." wheezed out a slightly terrified looking Zachary Goode.

"Oopsy-daisy?" she whispered, bright faced and incredibly embarrassed, trying on Liz's catchphrase for size. It didn't fit very well.

As Zach tried to stand up and as Cammie hindered him by constantly being in the way by trying to get out of the way, Cammie's table mate stood fluidly, and grabbed her attention by letting out a polite cough. Both of the spies had their attention captured immediately, and Cammie felt her soon-to-be-husband tense in her arms as she attempted to drag him to a standing position.

"I assume the two of you will have much to talk about, so I'll take my leave now. Agent Morgan, it was wonderful meeting you. If you ever find yourself in need of a hand, don't hesitate to call in a favor." the red head man said, as gracious as he had been the whole night. He turned suddenly, and within moments the man who Cammie had been talking to for nearly two hours had disappeared into the crowd.

"Boy, and I thought _I_ was a chameleon." she muttered to herself as she finally managed to right her boyfriend. Her boyfriend who was currently staring at her very strangely.

"What?" she asked, somewhat surprised by the look he was giving her. "I mean, I know he's kind of odd, but he was a pretty nice guy."

Zach just continued to stare at her like she had grown a third eye. She opened her mouth to defend herself once again, but this time was cut off by the man she had just nearly killed, who was sending death glares to the few remaining rubber-necks staring at them.

"Do you have any idea who that man was?" he hissed.

"Well," she stuttered, realizing for the first time that she had never even asked the man for his name. "Uhm, well, not exactly. I mean I-"

"Gregorvitch."

Cammie blanched. "Come again?"

"Greg. Or. Vitch. Yass-en Greg-or-vitch." he pronounced each syllable slowly, as if she was as small child just learning to appreciate speech patterns.

And at that very moment, Cammie felt very well near as useful as a baby. Gripping Zach hard by the shoulder, she pulled him dangerously close to her face and whisper-screamed "Yassen Gregorvitch the assassin?!"

Her fiancée nodded, and in an attempt to placate her before she tore his arm out of the socket, said "Well look, at least you didn't give him any important information, right?"

Cammie remained silent, and it was Zach's turn to grip her arms.

"Cammie _what did you say_?"

"I didn't say anything!" she whispered furiously at him, wrenching her arm away, face pale, even in the beautiful mood lighting of the ballroom. "But Zach, he asked a lot of question about Alex Rider. What if he's here to assassinate him!? We need to let someone know, we need to take him down!" she cried, reaching for the stun gun in her clutch.

Agent Goode snatched the bag away from her, holding it behind his back and _laughing_. Cammie didn't know whether to be furious or entirely baffled, and luckily for the sake of his family jewels, Zach noticed this too.

"I'm sure that if he wanted to, he would have done it already. I mean _Jesus_ Cammie, did you not talk to anyone else at _all_?"

Having finally settled on an appropriate mix of anger and confusion, Cammie found herself unable to utter anything more eloquent than "What the _hell_ are you talking about?"

"Cammie, Gregorvitch is _married _to Rider. I've been here for like ten minutes and that's all I've heard. Agent Rider went MIA on his last mission, and he showed up like a week later with a marriage certificate and the threat of going rogue if MI6 tried to intervene."

There was absolute silence from Cammie as she slumped into her earlier vacated chair, face in her hands as she blushed more than she ever had, even from her first awkward crush on her CoveOps teacher. Blocking out her boyfriend's voice, Cammie signaled a nearby waiter to her table, taking two shot classes full of what tasted like straight vodka.

She was about to call the man back over to her and just ask him to leave her the entire tray of drinks, when she suddenly felt as if she was being watched. Whipping her head around (perhaps just a tad too quickly for her currently inebriated state), Cammie caught site of two bemused looking men in hand-tailored suits, the younger of the two looking at her curiously and whispering into his husband's ear as Yassen allowed his arm to rest around his partner's waist, a deep chuckle resonating from his abdomen as he nodded a yes.

Cammie grabbed a whiskey from a passing guest and drained it in a long gulp, burning red and wishing she could drown.

**Fallacies: I don't know if gay marriage is currently legal in Australia, Yassen Gregorvitch is not canonically a red head, and I am inordinately proud of this story.**

**Please review! **


End file.
